Blind Fury
by ElphabaTheDelirious117
Summary: The anger rose with a vengeance that seperated Elphaba from the Witch, making her forget herself...Bookmusicalverse. Oneshot.


**A/N: I was bored, so this happened. A half-hearted attempt at angry writing. Bear with me, and please review. ****I made it book/musical because I wanted to add a few things from the book (as always), but I still wanted to keep a No Good Deed-ish theme. So you get this. (_I'm sorry if it's confusing.) _**

**Just a random note: I learned that 'malkin' is one of the names for a female cat, so Malky could have been derived from it. Ok, on with the show.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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Anger tore at her heart. Anger, hatred, sorrow, frustration . . . and fear, as much as she hated to admit to herself, as much as she would deny it. She was scared, the same frightened little frog who had entered Shiz, unaware of how much her life would change in such a short, ridiculous, useless space of time. The only person in all of Oz who had ever loved her, ever truly _loved_ her, despite her color and possibly because of it, without any doubts or hesitations, was gone. She had lost him. 

Elphaba told herself it was her fault, taking the blame again; she always did. If she hadn't let him come with her, if she hadn't let herself be loved, Fiyero wouldn't be gone. He would be happy as cheese to be Glinda's fiancé, and they would all go down in history as Oz's cutest couple. But he had chosen her. And he was probably dead by now, wasting away in the cornfields of Munchkinland, oblivious farmers gathering the crops, despite her spell. She didn't know if it was a spell even, her hope was lost and it must be a jumble of meaningless words and the world hates her so despite all she had done for them and _she can't take it anymore_. Tears and screams rose in her throat, but they never came. Instead they were choked down, converted into hot anger, and the anger rose with a vengeance that separated Elphaba from the Witch, making her forget herself in her blind fury.

_Oblivious. _They were all oblivious! _Every one of them. _Not a single person in Oz had stopped to think about what was happening, had wondered _why_, had ever stood up to that parody of a government when something was clearly wrong. No one dared blame the _Glorious Wizard_, an abomination fueled by power, a cruel dictator under the surface. No one but her.

And _what_ had she gotten in return?

Hatred. Cruelty. Pain. Lies. Instead of payment for her efforts, she had gotten punishment. Oh, she remembered those days in Southstairs, rotting away in a horrid cell, only leaving for painful interrogations that left tears stinging in her eyes for days on end. How incomparably _weak _she had been then, not like now; just a nineteen-year-old, she had been, for Lurline's sake! Had they forgotten that she was human too, that she was capable of feelings and of feeling pain? Another thing added to the list of things they forgot, time and time again. Another Animal murdered. Another day of events hushed up. _She had been right_, and punished most brutally for it. She had escaped her family, Shiz, that dank prison, but she never seemed to be able to escape the hatred of Oz, no matter how hard she tried. Despite the rumors, the innuendo, the lies and the _punishment_, she had tried. She tried to be _good_, to keep the pain and the anger from consuming her, for the good of Oz. There was good and evil in everyone, a little of it, and she had tried ever so hard to stuff the evil into the shadows, so deep that it wouldn't resurface; it wouldn't, it couldn't, she didn't want to let it. Because if she let it escape and distort itself into a Witch, a false figure created by thoughtless, mindless, meaningless fear of the Wizard, she knew she would wreak havoc on the land, despite herself, she would become that figure. She would forget herself, Elphaba-Fabala-Elphie-Fae, a mere memory, and she would just surrender to her power. _Then _how Oz would shake in their boots.

She had tried.

But she doesn't feel like trying anymore.

Now she teeters on the brink of sanity, raging and cackling and coarsing around on her broomstick like a storybook witch, nothing to lose, not anymore, not now that it had been so brutally torn away. Nessa, her dear little sister, who had woken up, five years old, calling for her to soothe her with her wordless lullabies, to make her forget her nightmares. Dr. Dillamond, punished for being right as well, for trying to make some good in this horrid, murderous world. He had gotten punishment as well, but he hadn't been able to retreat to a refuge of insanity and soar away on a broomstick. He had been murdered, because he had been right, and only the government was allowed to be right in this corrupted world. Glinda, who had been the only friend she had ever had, had betrayed her, joining the same ruling class to be _encouraging_, to lie without wondering how harmful it could be. So the Witch taunts Dorothy and her comrades, throwing fake fire where it was due, reveling in their stupidity. She pursues the shoes, which were _hers_, _dammit, _and she mutters meaningless words instead of spells, if only to frighten. The only way she keeps herself from being frightened, from caring so much it _hurts_, from depending on others' love when it would never come, not anymore, not without him, is by scaring others, by laughing at those little things that make them so ridiculous. So that is what she does.

There had been no one to fear before the Witch had been forced into herself. She had been punished before, for making good where it applied, for helping others and wanting to help. No one cared where the punishment was really due, no one wondered what was happening behind the blissful emerald scenes. But just like before, when no one but she had done something about the situation, she would do something about it now. The tables would turn.

They would get their punishment, one by one.


End file.
